


Sunburst

by BubbleBakerPenguinPie



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-extending, Espionage, F/M, Gen, Infiltration, Loss of Limbs, Pining, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-08-17 17:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16520453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleBakerPenguinPie/pseuds/BubbleBakerPenguinPie
Summary: Bodhi survives Scarif, barely. A time to count your blessings. It is quickly done. One: at least he is not completely alone.





	1. On to Scarif

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starts off between Eadu and Scarif, at the rebel base on Yavin IV.

She appeared before him so suddenly as if she had sprung up from the ground itself. Bodhi startled, more at the familiarity of her features. Rolled up sleeves revealed the edges of the tribal markings that snake up and down the arms from the crook of the elbow. Her dense, thick hair had been cut, every last one of customary braids sacrificed to a great and terrible grief. Jedha's native women didn't give their glorious hair to just any cause, but he supposed losing one's home would qualify. He wondered, briefly, whether this was fresh or had been carefully maintained since the Empire arrived to claim their little moon. 

-Tell me, _kinsman_. Is it really true? It's gone?

He can only nod. She gulps heavily, the only outward sign of distress.

-Then we are orphans now completely.

The mass of bodies jostles around them, so Bodhi finds himself gripped by the arm and pulled along with the flow.

-I should have been there to intercept you, before Gerrera - his distrustfulness cost valuable time.

Bodhi makes to reply, even though he has no idea what to say, but is interrupted by Andor clasping a firm hand around her shoulder.

-You were halfway across the galaxy, Lieutenant. Even without having to escape an Imperial firing squad. I don't know what Draven was thinking.

She gives a violent shake, but Andor refused to be dislodged, so she resigned.

-Captain.

It's the most insolent sound, delivered with the straightest of faces. Andor sighs, jogs ahead and gestures for them to follow. Pointedly, she switches to their native dialect to ask more questions. It just about brings Bodhi to tears again. He answers as clearly as he can. If nothing else, it passes the time before what seems like the entire rebellion is assembled. Her name, she says, is Dayanara.

-Your tribe?

-What does it matter, with barely any of us left now? No one but exiles.

-I'd like to know how close our blood runs.

She seems unimpressed.

-You're the one calling me your kinsman.

She could have further rolled up her sleeve and let him figure it out himself.

-Beni Zhevarani. I call you that because we are all of that earth and that makes us kin.

-My father's mother was of your tribe.

-So, there you have it, my kinsman.

An upturn of the corner of her mouth that could almost have been a smile. Then a surge jolts through the assembly of rebels and she gently pushes him forward, somewhere a good few steps behind Jyn, and melts back into the press of people. 


	2. After Scarif

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Scarif, just.

When Bodhi comes to, he is at first surprised by the constant level of noise, of beeping and shuffling and muted voices. It's only the odd groan or scream of pain that gradually clues him in that he is still in this world, isn't dead, has not been swallowed by the sky full of fire over Scarif. He's also pumped so full of painkillers that the conclusion only registers remotely. He's awake and pulled back under within a minute, only half-waking sporadically. It was enough to get a sense of his injuries, which were extensive, and almost enough to come to grips with the fact that he had, apparently, somehow, survived.

It's days or weeks or maybe just hours. Judging by how the hum around him has quietened it must be the twilight hours. He feels a chill that cannot be due to the temperature, because it is stiflingly warm inside the med bay where his cot has been pushed to the far side of the large room, a cold bare wall to one side. He tries to call out while his body still feels numb enough, because he feels that soon enough it won't be, and then he'll be preoccupied, but right now he needs to know if Rogue One got the message out, and if any of the others made it.

All he can get out is a pitiful croak, and not even a particularly loud one. It just sounds like someone discreetly choking on a bug. The cool smooth edge of a ceramic beaker is set at his dry lips and tilted gently, allowing a steady trickle of water to flow down his throat. He even has trouble swallowing, but it's a balm nonetheless. Desert-dwellers like them learn early to never turn down water when it is available. Bodhi sees her face upside down, standing over his cot, the pure black of her short hair broken up by white bandages with the blood weeping through. They covered almost half of her face and head. He heard, very faintly, the click of a crutch, even saw it out of the corner of his remaining good eye, or at least he thought he did. His own face had taken a grenade blast, that much he remembered. And to be frank, he dreaded the day when his own bandages would have to come off. But that seemed too far off for it to be a serious concern right now. 

'You left before we could ask the ancestors' protection, that's why this happened.' She gestured between their bandaged faces. Her voice holds no reproach, just the matter of the fact.

'I lived, didn't I.' He spat. The proximity of death had put him in a caustic mood. 'Besides, without … What protection could there be. Who is there to give it.'

The half of her face that was not covered turned into a scowl, and had Bodhi had more energy he might have felt bad. Even so he jumps when a stiff-fingered hand reaches up to gently brush along the side of his head that isn't singed and bandaged. Blunt nails barely scratch through the shaved hair on the side of his skull. It struck him then that Dayanara was the only person far and wide who would even recognize the significance of it, as he'd known the significance of her sacrificed braids. 

'You can finally grow this out again, at least. The war is almost over, one way or the other. You got your message out, pilot.' She mumbles. He enjoys the soothing motion on his scalp, even though it tickles the slightest bit. With effort and through his - albeit dulled - pain he reaches his remaining hand upwards.

'You too.' He only gets as far as her shoulder before his entire side erupts into vicious stinging, but he grits his teeth through it, needing to make that connection. Understanding, she sits down and bows her head until their foreheads touch. Her thick hair feels dusty when his fingers thread through it, the ends of it tickling his fingertips.

'Thank you.' He breathed, mind already clouding into oblivion again. 

'Rest.' Dayanara commanded lightly, brushing his eyelid shut with her fingertips. 

'You too.' He rasps, fingers stilling as he is pulled under once more. 

* * *

The worst thing, at present, is the daily changing of the dressings on his wounds. He tries not to scream, always gritting his teeth until his mouth is filled with the taste of blood. There is no amount of painkillers that could make this procedure bearable, and the Rebellion is plagued with eternal supply problems, so it's not like they could just drug up everyone here, no matter how much he begs or loudly he screams. Really, Bodhi can only endure it because the new bacta patches offer a few minutes of soothing relief on his raw, burnt flesh. Trust his luck to take a grenade at close range, yet survive, and to get himself burned, but not so badly that the nerves were singed away beyond sensation. So now he felt everything. He even still felt his arm, even though it had been amputated just below the shoulder. 

It was almost two weeks until he saw her again. He'd been moved into one of the closed rooms as it became available, on account of the severity of his injuries. Most of the time, he was still either delirious or halfway to comatose, but every day was a little bit clearer. Dayanara limped into his room while he was busy memorizing the pattern of stains on the ceiling. She crept in as best she could, but the click of her crutch gave her away. And the wheezing, labored breathing. And, most of all, the muttered Jedhaian curses. 

'Thought you'd forgotten me, kinswoman.' He rasped, tongue sluggish. They weren't really related, strictly speaking, at least not any closer than via several degrees of distant ancestors. Jedha's native population had always been meagre. 

'Sorry, my lung's shot.' Dayanara replied off-handedly, drawing up a chair and lowering herself into it carefully. It was difficult to gage the extent of her injuries from his position, especially since he could barely move, but if she could sneak around she was probably better off than him, which was something at least. 

'How're you feeling?'

'Medium rare.' Humor was an exquisitely useful thing, he found. 'Sorry, your what did what now?' Apparently it wasn't only his tongue that was sluggish. 

'My lung.' 

Bodhi didn't know how to reply, so he let it be. A good handful of moments passed in a pensive silence, in which the faint wheezing sound accompanying Dayanara's breathing seemed to become more pronounced. In his few lucid moments he'd tried to get more information out of the doctors, all of whom had flat out refused. He had a feeling Dayanara would be more forthcoming. 

'What else happened on Scarif?' He whispered into the night's dark stillness. Dayanara didn't answer at first, just grasped his remaining hand in hers, or tried to. Her fingers were still stiff and set in splints, so all she could do really was hook her thumb around his and press their palms together. He curled his fingers around gently and squeezed feebly, encouraging her to speak. 

'Let's start with the good things: One, the transmission got through to the Rebellion. Two, in destroying Scarif, the Empire rid itself of masses of critical information.'

'Yay.' Bodhi interjected unenthusiastically. That was potentially advantageous in the grand scheme of things, he supposed, but not really what he yearned to know. 

'Three, through the quick wit and daredevil bravery of one young private, a few of our people could actually be rescued from Scarif before it blew up. Private Rokai. He must have been among the group that accompanied you, Rogue One.'

Bodhi thought he might even remember. More a boy than a man yet, tallish and skinny, with deep green eyes and a nervous, gap-toothed grin. 

'Apparently he commandeered another freight vessel, then went around loading up any rebel he could get to. Most of them were dead when he dragged them aboard, a good few died on the way back, but a few survived, of which lucky few you are one.'

Bodhi wasn't feeling especially lucky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooooooo ...thoughts, anyone?


	3. Out of Jedha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooops, I accidentally posted the last chapter before it was finished. well, that just means shifting the end of that to this chapter. pls enjoy, and by 'enjoy' I mean don't kill me pls

_Bodhi wasn't feeling especially lucky._

Still, he pressed on. Needed to. He squeezed Dayanara's hand again, urging her to continue. Quietly, she did. 

'Your Guardian friends... one didn't make it, and the other isn't taking it well at all.' That could really mean either one, he imagined. Dayanara hadn't had the chance to get to know them at all, so it was pointless asking her. Besides, his throat was closing up with tears wanting to be shed. He squeezed her hand tighter, trying to hold on to something, anything. He could feel her thumping pulse under his fingertips. 

'The other three couldn't be recovered in time.' She said very quickly, the words barely distinct from one another, as if doing it quick would take the impact out of them. Her voice sounded thick and raw and it ocurred to Bodhi that she must have known Cassian and his droid fairly well. 

How well, he didn't dare ask. She only left in the early hours of the morning, after her tears had been used up.

* * *

 In his service to the Empire, his days had often consisted of long hours of uninterrupted flight. The Empire prided itself on its efficiency, which really just meant keeping their underlings on tight schedules for the most part, with terror managing the ones who couldn't be gotten through self-sacrificing loyalty. As a cargo pilot, Bodhi's shifts had been gruelling, often back-to-back, but those moments, when it was just him and his ship in the darkness of space - one might almost believe that none of it was real. Since the Empire, for all its might, didn't have the manpower to deploy guards to every supply shuttle, he'd often found himself wondering what kept him on route. There were trackers of course, but even so it would have taken hours from the warning that a shuttle was going off course until a unit would be sent out to retrieve the rogue vessel. On his particular route, it might have taken as long as half a day, more than enough time to make for safety, ditch the ship, drop off the grid. Bodhi never did for various reasons, though he was often tempted. The response might not have been quite swift enough to catch him immediately, but the pursuit would have been relentless enough that they would have found him eventually. And then there was what they did to deserters. He'd had nowhere to go anyway, since Jedha was the only home he had and all the other places he'd been to were Imperial territories, by volition or occupation. And he was too much of a coward to just fly off into complete uncertainty, even after the death of his mother. Or maybe it just felt too much like running away. And Galen, of course. 

Strange how defection had still found him, in the end. 

* * *

 Back on Jedha, all the children of the native nomadic tribes grow up with the stories of their people. It is customary to name a firstborn child after a mythical hero. It is hoped that this confers some of the qualities from legend to newborn. The historical Bodhi had been an orator, a storyteller, and a poet, who could make even the most hardened warriors weep with his words. His glory was that he had roused a rebellion that repelled the first hostile invaders to their dusty little moon. Bodhi the Storyteller, Bodhi the Speaker, Bodhi the Poet, Bodhi the Bard. Bodhi whose ancient words had united the squabbling tribes under one message and though they were few they'd been victorious. The name of the invaders had been lost to history, but even as a boy, Bodhi Rook could not help but picture them in the sleek white armour of Imperial stormtroopers. It had been Bodhi the Bard who raised the call, but it had been the warrior queen Dayanara who had led the charge. Bodhi's mother's father has claimed descent from that same queen and it might well have even been so. 

This Dayanara was clearly chomping at the bit to be back in the thick of the action - any action - and resented the doctors who refused to clear her with unyielding spite. Thus condemned to inaction, she exerted her remaining energies on constantly updating him on every little detail of rebel operations she could get her hands on. Only a few days into this routine and he knew her by her gait, the click of her crutch and the heavy thump of her good foot. She even walked with an air of resentment, unwilling to resign herself to this when she was used to being lightfooted, to be able to walk across Jedha's shifting sands without disturbing them. Bodhi wondered if she had ever danced. He'd never been good at it, his head always getting too caught up in where his feet should be, but at least he'd had a knack for the drums and found it easy to keep a rhythm. In his dreams, he could almost see the scenes that had never happened exactly like this, though quite like it for generations before them. Making camp for the night, tents pitched roughly in a circle with fires at two or three points around the edge of the space left free in between. These evenings would start with food and drink and stories, stories turning into songs, songs growing with each voice and instrument added, and eventually someone would be the first to get up and start dancing until the square in the middle of their camp was filled with twirling bodies. His mother had always been among the first to get up and start the dance; and when Bodhi had been very little, she had held him in her arms as she spun, round and round and round. If he closed his eyes he could imagine it, could conjure up the bracing rhythm of the drums and the clapping of hands and the dozens of feet, felt the ground vibrate beneath him like the skin if the drum beneath his palms, heard the symphony of instruments and voices - most of all he could picture Dayanara dancing with her hair and skirts flying. If the Empire had never existed it might have happened exactly like that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also I actually have only the vaguest notion of where I'm actually going with this, so please bear with me. Or better yet, interact with me. (please.)


	4. Loneliness has always been a friend of mine

Bodhi had lost all sensation of time passing, only measuring his days is increments of wound dressing, his weeks by which pains dulled, and his months in which part of his body he could move again. It felt like years before he could sit up again at all, and more yet before he could do it unassisted. He'd been moved back into the main room of the med bay, to make room for the injured from another battle. What battle, he didn't know, and it wasn't until Dayanara limped in that evening - later than usual - that he learned more. 

She seemed to be almost vibrating with energy, both anxious and thrilled. Her bandages had come off a while ago, revealing the red, angry scarring underneath. A blistered cut that bisected her left eye and cheek down to the chin, and another one at an angle to it, having taken off some of her ear and vanishing  into her hairline. The scarring would heal more in the future, but for now one could almost picture the bright burn of the laser-based weapon that had caused it. 

"The Death Star is gone! It's destroyed!" She burst out, breathlessness only partly due to her damaged lung this time. She grabbed his hand and squeezed, clasped it between both of hers and held fast. Bodhi was still weaning off the daily dose of painkillers, so his mind was slow to flicker into comprehending. 

"Destroyed?" 

"And all thanks to you!" Dayanara's excitement seemed to grow by the second. It occurred to Bodhi that she must have run straight to him with these news. Unsqueamish as ever, but far more elated, she hauled him up into a sitting position and threw both her arms around him. Dizzy and dazed, he grasped her elbow. 

"Me? What did I do?" 

"You brought the message, silly!" 

Oh yes, that. It seemed half a lifetime ago that he'd been marched through the Jedhan desert by a surly troupe of rebels, since Saw Gerrera, since the Bor Gullet - Bodhi cut off his train of thought at this point, not ready to dive into that particular can of worms just yet. Once upon a time, he'd been the pilot tasked with passing on a message in the vain hope that it might do some good, erase some of his guilt. 

"You are the stone that toppled an empire." Dayanara whispered in his ear, cheek to cheek as they were. He could feel the wetness of her tears on his skin, allowed himself to relish in her hands clutching at his back. "Jedha is avenged, Alderaan is avenged, countless other worlds are saved - and you made it possible." 

He'd also been the reason Jedha had been chosen to demonstrate the weapon's terrible power in the first place, but he supposed there was some vindication to be had here, so he stayed silent and held Dayanara as she clung to him and wept. 

* * *

Bodhi's body felt too light to hold him down to the ground. It wasn't just that he'd lost weight during his convalescence, or a result from having one arm amputated (which threw off his whole balance), though that didn't help. Gritting his teeth, he grasped the railings and put all his energy into pushing his foot forward. Physical therapy was the next slow step in his recovery, insisted upon by a whole host of very serious rebel doctors. He'd been provided with a temporary prosthetic arm that had to be buckled over the opposite shoulder. The grenade had done a whole number on him, burning the one side of his body and shattering the bones in the other as the blast had thrown him out of his ship, but not before smashing him into the shuttle's metal wall on the way out. So now there he was, one leg brittle and creaking and the other stiff and sore, and his back and shoulders locked tight with the effort of holding himself upright. So far, he hadn't fallen, and he didn't intend to. He may have only managed all of four steps, but he wouldn't fall on his face. Also, they were going to keep him in the med bay until he could get around unassisted again. 

Sweat dripped down him, tingling unpleasantly over the raw patches of skin and curling his singed-off hair. It made the shirt stick to his back and chest and his throat run dry, and worst of all it somehow managed to run beneath the bandaging on his damaged left eye where it itched mind-numbingly, but if he had half a mind to keep that eye and maybe even retain some sight in it, he was absolutely forbidden from even thinking of touching it. 

"Think about your feet, not your eye." Doctor Rokai instructed matter-of-factly, not even really looking up from her datapad. She was the stern overseer over the several maimed rebels who had given flesh and blood to the resistance. She was also, Bodhi had quickly found out, the older sister of the private he owed his life to and therefore took a special interest in Bodhi's recovery specifically. She could also, possibly, read minds. Bodhi grunted something unintelligible and willed his feet to move. It was like his body had forgotten how. What felt like several tanks of sweat later, he had managed his painstaking march along the full length of the railing, which ran almost half the length of the substantial room. 

"Alright, I think that's enough for today." The doctor chirped happily as she made to unbuckle his arm. Bodhi had just enough energy left to glower at her. It did not perturb her in the slightest. Well, no matter. There were a fresher and a bunk with his name on it, and if he was lucky Dayanara would be there already when he made his way back to the latter.  

* * *

 She was so, having made herself quite at home. Bodhi smiled involuntarily at the sight of her lounging -slouching really -on the thin mattress, her bad leg elevated on the surrounding railing, gaze glued to a datapad. He thanked the little droid that had conveyed him back here as it was already scurrying away, then chanced to stand and hoist himself up on the, admittedly, low bunk bed. 

"Brought you some _Baby Rocks_." Dayanara said off-handedly, eyes only flicking away from her datapad a moment to pull a small bag from her pocket and toss it in his lap. He picked it up wordlessly, weighing the small paper bag in his hand with reverence. The thick, sweet smell of the hard candies floated up into his nose, instantly transporting him back to hiding in cozy corners and sharing them with his little brother when they were both small and everyone was still alive. The smell of a happy childhood. Involuntarily, he smushed the little bag in his fist. 

"Where'd you even get this?" 

"There are some expat communities scattered throughout the systems the Rebel Alliance does business with. My brother sends me things whenever he can manage it. Anything he thinks might help with the homesickness." 

By the last words, Dayanara had laid her datapad aside and now proceeded to pry open his fingers from around the little bag. 

"Come on," she said, cheerily, holding up one to his lips, "how long since you last had one of these, anyway?" 

Bodhi thought back on it. This type of candy was really too sweet for most adults, but it was an all-time favourite with Jedha's children. Not since the Empire came to Jedha - no, longer than that even. He distinctly remembered an older relative sneaking them some of the candy just after their father died, to console two little boys who had suddenly been half orphaned. 

"At least ten years, maybe twelve." He guessed. He wondered whether they would have left Jedha as well, had their father still been alive when the Empire came, wondered whether his family might still be alive today. He wondered how young Dayanara had been when her family did. Gingerly, he plucked the candy piece from her fingers and popped it in his mouth. The taste was instantly familiar, rich, sugary molasses fragrant with moonflower blossoms and just a pinch of salt that cut through the overwhelming sweetness only to enhance it. Grinning, Dayanara took one for herself and immediately bit down hard, crushing the candy between her molars with relish. 

Bodhi groaned, which seemed to amuse her.

"You'll break your teeth like that."

"Haven't yet."

Bodhi sighed. "You'll break each and every one of your teeth and grind them down into gravel." He repeated, channelling every well-meaning relative of every Jedhan child ever. Dayanara only grinned wider. Undeterred, or rather: openly and spitefully encouraged, she chewed on. And Bodhi laughed. Snorty and loud, unstoppable, freed. He laughed so hard his body became boneless and slipped down from where he'd propped his back against the wall, until he was lying flat on the mattress and his legs were dangling off the side. He almost choked on his candy, and he almost blacked out from lack of air, and yet he didn't seem to be able to stop. Nor she.

There was a lull after their wheezing had subsided, a silence too comfortable to be filled with conversation. Dayanara hummed an absent-minded melody, her face tucked into his neck, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. Bodhi had to fight to keep his eyes open and his wits about him; a fight he was close to losing when Dayanara stirred and straightened. 

"The Rebellion is leaving Yavin, did you hear?"

He had, in enough bits and pieces to piece together an image of the overall situation. The most severely injured would be evacuated to a secret location, but he was apparently close enough to recovery to be kept close by. The Empire was not yet defeated. He nodded. 

"D'you know where we'll be going, by any chance?" 

Dayanara swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze for a moment in favour of her previously discarded datapad. 

"I'm going back out in the field. Just had my mission assigned before I came here." Her voice was quiet, apologetic yet stable. Not like Bodhi's. His was trembling when he managed to utter a simple 'Oh?'

"I'm leaving in the morning. I just wanted to say good-bye before I did." She still couldn't bear to face him. He blinked away a few unexpected tears, a handful of unhelpful questions. _'When did they clear you for that?' 'Where? Who? Why? Why you?' 'Can't someone else do it?'_

He settled on the one thing he absolutely needed to know. 

"Will it be dangerous?" He asked, sitting up. The movement caused her small warm hand to slip from his shoulder, but with his one arm busy hoisting up his torso, he had no hand left to reach for her. Dayanara stood, smoothing out her rumpled clothes. 

"I'll be as safe as I can be." She shot him a quick glance as she made to leave. "You should rest now. I've kept you long enough."

"Yara!"

At the familiar form - he'd only taken to calling her it a couple of weeks or so before - she turned.

"Take care."

"I will."

An invisible force propelled him forward, making him stumble off the low bunk bed and a few unsteady steps after her. 

"Yara!"

Her brisk pace slowed, her limp barely noticeable anymore, the crutches long gone. He didn't mean to keep her, but he couldn't just let her go. She stood and once again, turned. 

"Will I ever see you again?" 

Dayanara smiled sadly, then retraced her steps until she stood in front of him. 

"I have to do this, Bodhi. I have to do what I can to make the bastards pay and to make sure that not one creature more has to suffer loss like we did." 

He nodded in acknowledgement. He understood, but he was so damn tired, and so damn scared. 

"Will I see you again?" 

Dayanara leaned in close, squeezing his shoulders in a brief approximation of an embrace, and placing a quick kiss on his cheek. 

"Trust that I'll find my way to you again, one way or another, or you to me. Good-bye, Bodhi." she whispered, lingering just a moment, a few heartbeats longer, before pulling away and leaving. Bodhi watched her disappear through the door and along the long, straight hallway until her figure faded in the distance. He touched his cheek where her lips had touched his skin, only to find it wet. On shaking knees, he made his way back to his bunk, sat, and let the tears flow freely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ten point to the first person to correctly guess which song the chapter title was lifted from  
> the whole fic is named after a song by Riz himself, btw, because he makes good music but this track has a very special place in my heart


	5. No Wealth, No Ruin, No Silver, No Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> readers please interact

Bodhi startled, as he was wont to do now whenever someone approached him from the right. The shadow appeared just out of his new blind spot before the body that cast it. Bodhi raised his arm in defensive reflex, only to be reminded that that arm was gone now. A wave of primal panic crashed through Bodhi's nerves, tingling unpleasantly beneath his skin. Not that he had ever truly been the picture of serenity in his life, just that having your field of vision almost halved could set a man on edge.  

"Whoa, easy there, it's just little old me." A reassuring smile framed by dimples, two hands raised palms forward-facing. Private Ezad Rokai, who had not been content to save his life but was now intent on becoming his friend as well. Bodhi let out a breath, uncurled his shoulder from its defensive bracing position, willed his body to relax. 

"It's fine, just still getting used to this." he mumbled, gesturing vaguely at the eyepatch that had replaced the bandages. 

"No, I'm sorry. Next time I'll holler, promise!" Ezad said, clapping a large warm hand on Bodhi's shoulder. "Were you going somewhere specific? I'm supposed to fetch you for Draven; he still has points he wants clarified." 

Bodhi grimaced. Draven was relentless in his pursuit of the Empire, and he would not let any source go before he'd squeezed them dry of any last smidge of intel. Not that Bodhi objected _as such_ to this, but he wasn't sure what more he could tell the head of rebel intelligence. 

"Come on, it'll distract you from your pining." 

"I'm not _pining_." 

"Oh _sure_ you're not, that's why you're always hanging around the communications center. And that's how I knew which hallway to look for you." 

The dangerous thing with Private Ezad Rokai was that he made is so easy to be befriended by him. And easy to confide in him. And what one didn't confide he could easily deduce because of course he was also whip smart like that. And Bodhi had never been lonelier in his life than during the past few weeks. 

"Let's get it over with." He muttered, letting himself be steered towards Draven's own command center. 

* * *

Davits Draven was a man of intense and singular focus whose mind could and would dissect even the tiniest detail down to its molecular structure, all in the service of gauging how it might be exploited to bring down the Empire. He was also Dayanara's direct superior, so Bodhi bore the penetrating gaze and even more penetrating questions with as much equanimity as he could muster. But now it had been several hours of regurgitating imperial flight protocol - again - and his head was growing heavy and his eye dry with tired irritation. 

"Back to your training," Draven let the words hang in the air, from where Bodhi did not feel particularly compelled to pluck them. When freshly cleared from the med bay, Draven had immediately snatched him away for an hours-long interrogation session that only masqueraded as friendly. Anything to ensure the Rebellion wasn't inviting an informer into their midst, but it had taken Bodhi to places he did not particularly long to remember, nor did he appreciate the insinuation that he was a traitor. Which he was, technically, but not to the Rebellion. For which he'd almost died. 

"You tested continuously above average in our flight simulator, well above average in fact in four separate parameters. Yet according to your training records your grades were merely average, meaning you did not qualify for the starfighter program." 

Bodhi held back a groan. He still knew the exact words of that final assessment. Indecisive, distractable, prone to nervousness, risk-averse. Not assertive enough. Too disposed towards empathy and not enough towards violence. Lacking in conviction. Lacking the willingness to self-sacrifice for the cause. Not starfighter material.

And it was not like he had wanted to succeed. But Imperial recruits in every occupied world gained preferred treatment (which mostly only meant freedom from stormtrooper harassment), and his mother had been getting sicker and sicker and he'd still only been a boy. So he'd done as well as he had to in order to stay in and not stick out, had arranged himself with occupation and tried to game the system enough to survive, not daring to question why the system made you fight for scraps and kept you in a state of anxious caution at all times. The refusal of the full extent of his abilities was all the small rebellion he'd allowed himself back then. Before Galen. And before they wouldn't let him bury his mother. 

He held Draven's gaze steadily. They'd been over this back in that interrogation, where the Rebellion's chief intelligence officer had made him bare his soul. In clipped words, Bodhi reiterated his points, his rationalisations and motivations. Draven nodded, folding his arms across his chest and fixing Bodhi in his calculating gaze. 

"And how many of your former ...compatriots could reasonably be persuaded to resist?"

"...Resist?"

"Refuse cooperation, defect, rise up, even. How widespread and how strong is this resentment you carry with you among the rank and file, chiefly those recruited after their homeworlds were occupied by the Empire. I'm talking support staff, logistics, supply - everyone who keeps that machine running. That's what I need to know." 

Bodhi was dumbstruck for a moment. Imperial programming was intense, scrutiny even more so, and retribution always brutal. Suddenly wide awake again, Bodhi's mind was racing at this audacious idea. He thought of the people who had entered Terrabe Academy alongside him. If this went wrong - even if it went right - how many of them would not survive it?

"We weren't exactly encouraged to talk about how much we hate the Empire. I'm sure your many spies will be able to tell you as much, and more." Bodhi answered carefully. How did Draven even intend to plant the idea, let alone a concrete plan, in the minds of several tens of thousands? How would he ensure that enough would go along? That no one would talk? But then again if it worked - the whole Imperial machine would grind to a screeching halt. Bodhi pondered, or attempted to, but every time he tried to weigh the potential costs and gains, his mind conjured up the images of his exploding homeworld, of Galen Erso being flung through Eadu's blanketing downpour before lying motionless, of Scarif, of his dying brother in his arms, choking on the blood that filled his little lungs. He'd only been eight years old when a stormtrooper's stray blaster bolt hit him. Bodhi thought of the callousness with which the Empire treated the life and death of its underlings, and all the suffering inbetween the two. And he liked to believe it was something more than vengeance that made up his mind, but make up his mind he did. 

"Look for people with disciplinary strikes and suspensions in their service records. Repeated insubordination and such." He stated eventually. Draven's face broke into the slow smile of a hunter having locked in on his prey. Bodhi steeled himself for the inquisition that would follow his statement, his cooperation. 

* * *

When Bodhi returned to his assigned quarters, he found a small package inside the box meant for personal deliveries. It was small enough to cover his palm. He closed his fingers around it as he dragged himself over to the bunk and sat heavily, where he weighed the little package for a long moment before eventually unwrapping it. Inside, another bag of candy and wrapped around that, a letter in their native Jedhan script, scrawled in what must have been a great hurry. 

_If I had turned to look at you, I would never have been able to leave. Should we never see each other again in the realm of the living, just know that my heart wanted to._

After reading the words over and over again, after picking them apart and investigating every possible angle and meaning, Bodhi lay down and pressed the small scrap of paper to his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terrabe Sector Service Academy - where Bodhi Rook completed his pilot training for the Empire according to a snippet of movie trivia I found


	6. Keep Yourself Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time isn't real and in this fic it certainly isn't linear

 Bodhi woke with a start and the shadow of an already half-forgotten nightmare still clinging to the corners of his eye. Dayanara's note was in his hand, but he'd crumpled it in his convulsive sleep. Carefully, he smoothed out the thin paper and folded it into a neat little square that would sit easily in the inside pocket of the jacket Ezad had procured for him. His overalls hadn't exactly survived intact, and anyway, a rebel alliance base was the last place one would want to wear them. 

He dons the jacket against the nightly chill clinging to the walls of the base. The place was a bare, barren little moon in the Outer Rim, with a craggy surface strewn with rocks and howling winds, but compared to Hoth it was positively tropical. As it was still night, Bodhi strolled along the empty corridors quietly in the hope that it would help him clear his head. The place was huge, mostly hewn directly into the rock so as to interfere with the moon's surface as little as possible. Supposedly this had been a military outpost back in the days of the Republic, hence the barracks-like arrangement of sleeping quarters, mess halls, hangars, and the like. It's not even all of the Rebel forces here now; they've dispersed as far as has been deemed safe, and Draven had commandeered whomever he thought he might need to spin his web of spies and agents. Bodhi found himself in a refectory that had been converted into a training room and plopped down right in the center of the padded mats used for sparring. It's where he spent a good deal of his time now, on a tight exercise regimen designed to build his strength back up, to get him used to the prostetic arm, and to teach him how to defend himself. Bodhi stared at the bare stone ceiling and breathed the air that was still infused with the musky scent of the sweat of several different species, even when not in use. 

It's dark in here as in the rest of the underground base, save for the dim light from the stars outside shining in through the slim, high windows. And anyway, he knows the words by heart even if he can't see them.  _If I had turned to look at you, I would never have been able to leave._ Was it selfish that he still wanted her to? Just a quick look, a glance over the shoulder would have been enough. _Look at me now, Yara,_ he thought bitterly as he traced her words with the tip of his finger, _couldn't even walk back then and now I'm learning to fight._ Just the day before, he'd finally managed to disarm his instructor, a grizzled old rebel who'd been in it since the Empire first hatched. When the Empire recruited people, they never trained them in more than absolutely necessary, and cargo pilots didn't tend to need hand-to-hand combat skills. They barely went through the basics of blaster usage at the Imperial Flight Academy, focusing instead on skills far more quintessential to interstellar flight. Engineering. Memorizing flight protocols. Astrophysics. And perhaps the Empire was also wary of handing out the knowledge of weapons to those who might use that knowledge against it at some point.

It had been months since he'd last seen Dayanara, and almost as long since he'd had a message. He'd even sent some in return, via her brother as he'd received them, but she hadn't been there in a long time and all he'd gotten back was an apologetic note from the brother. It had been months now, and shortly, he would depart on his own mission. But while the night lasted and sleep eluded him, he might as well go a few rounds against the training droids. 

* * *

_Should we never see each other again in the realm of the living, just know that my heart wanted to._

Bodhi's own heart is beating a frantic rhythm against his ribcage. It aches, too, like it's being squeezed tight and he's having trouble breathing now. He'd only had a few hours of fitful sleep filled with fuzzy dreams that left him feeling frazzled. He presses the note against his forehead as if that would allow him to see her. In his fading dreams, her image had been the only clear thing. And this for several nights in a row now, even before he'd received her letter the night before. 

It's futile, he knows this from painfully awkward experience. You see, Bodhi had been in love once before (it had ended badly before even going anywhere, but that's a different story), so he knows that going against his own heart is a singularly useless endeavor. One side effect of it is that he cannot help but be bold, so first thing that morning he marches himself to Draven's private quarters and raises a damn ruckus, Dayanara's note tucked securely into his breast pocket so it rests above his heart. It's the crack of dawn, so Bodhi is slightly surprised to find Draven up, shaved and primped and all. For someone who seemed to never sleep he really did keep himself pulled together flawlessly. 

"Yes?" 

Bodhi was struck speechless for the moment, his fervor faltering slightly as he found himself facing the man's very disapproving mustache. 

_Should we never see each other again in the realm of the living-_

"Where is she? Where did you send her?" 

It was a testament to how well informed Draven kept himself that he didn't even require elaboration on that outburst. Or perhaps Bodhi simply wasn't as insignificant as he somehow still assumed. 

"Lieutenant-  Captain Nayit's whereabouts are confidential, and if you value her safety you won't ask me again."

"But-"

"Did you think about what I suggested when we last spoke?"

The turn in the conversation was so abrupt it nearly gave Bodhi whiplash. He blinked once, twice, blindsided by the uncomfortable feeling that he was no match for the Rebellion's chief of intelligence. Then he remembered what had propelled him here and decided that he didn't care what weaknesses he might reveal about himself. 

"I need to know." He pleaded. "I need to know, please."

Draven sighed, making a great show of relenting ever so reluctantly. With a curt wave, he motioned Bodhi inside his quarters and shut the door behind them. The general's quarters were ...utilitarian came closest. Spotless and meagre, save for the neat stacks of files and datapads on a desk, where Draven returned to sit. Apprehensive, Bodhi remained standing in the doorway. 

"Last time we spoke I told you of my plan to instigate uprisings among Imperial personnel. That plan has been in motion for a while now, and Captain Nayit has been doing a lot of the preparatory work. We have already planted several of our own agents, but key positions have proven harder to fill." He levelled Bodhi with a weighty gaze and pulled free a datapad from a stack of files. After swiping it to a personnel file and enlarging the picture, he turned it around for Bodhi to see.

"Know him?" 

Bodhi stared at the picture with a deepening frown. He did. Major Valarian Rispeha, lately in charge of administration and defense of Eadu. He was from Corellia, but must have had a good deal of Jedhan in him, judging by his looks. Not that he'd had any affection for his heritage, Jedhan or other. Imperial officers. Bodhi had gotten to know their kind. They could roughly be divided into three subsets: the ruthless careerists whose only god was power, the spineless opportunists who bowed upwards while kicking downwards, and perhaps most dangerously, the genuine fanatics who would sacrifice everyone including themselves for their cause. Major Rispeha had been the latter, and presumably still was if he chose the chance to torment prisoners over an honorable discharge.  From what Bodhi remembered, his hobbies had also included relentless micromanaging, snooping around, and doling out disciplinary actions for every offence mundane or made-up. Bodhi resisted the urge to spit on the ground, opting instead for a terse nod. 

"According to our intelligence he was wounded during the attack on Eadu, sustaining burns not dissimilar to yours. As soon as his recovery is completed he will be assigned to manage the Imperial Labor Camp on Cherridan. It is my objective that he never reaches it, and that no Imperial finds out until you've liberated the camp." 

Bodhi should have seen this coming, but it still took him by surprise. Draven was still holding out the data pad and Bodhi took it in his hand, quickly scanning the personal details on file. He was surprised to learn that Major Rispeha was only a year older than him. Same height, too. 

"Who is on Cherridan?" He asked reflexively, not really expecting an answer. He'd heard rumours of an uprising there some time ago, before his defection. 

"A few of our people, a few of our allies, and a whole lot of innocents who dared defy the Empire." 

Bodhi continued flicking through the file on the datapad. It was all there, perfectly planned - or as perfectly as one could ever plan something like this. 

"How did you know I'd agree to this?" 

"Do you?"

Bodhi laid the datapad back on the table top. For all anyone outside the Rebel Alliance knew he was dead. Dayanara was out there stealing information from the Empire, and goodness knew what else, while he had been hanging around doing what, exactly? He nodded, and Draven looked pleased. 

"What would you have done if I'd declined?"

"Try to bribe you with flying again." 

"Wouldn't have worked." Bodhi's depth perception was a mess since he'd lost the sight in his right eye. 

"Wouldn't it?" It might well have, though Bodhi liked to believe that he might have seen through that ploy. But to be honest, he might not have cared, in the end. 

Draven stood, handed him the datapad, and motioned for Bodhi to follow as he marched straight through to the rooms set aside for combat training. Inside, a grey-haired, broad-chested rebel was making very quick and tidy work of a recruit a third his age and half his size, far too limber for a man of his built and years. While the kid was wheezing on the mat, the grey-beard turned and grinned at Draven like they were old friends about to level their sabacc stakes. 

"Fresh meat? You shouldn't have!" he bellowed, sizing up Bodhi as he clapped one of his giant paws on Draven's shoulder. The men hugged and exchanged hushed words. Bodhi noticed, with no small amount of trepidation, that he was even skinnier than the recruit who was picking himself off the ground under supressed groaning. 

"Teach him to keep himself alive. You have three weeks." Draven concluded, loud enough for everyone to hear again, while nodding at Bodhi. The grey-beard took one good look at Bodhi's terrified face and launched into laughter that sounded like gravel in a steel drum. 

* * *

 With difficulty - no, it was with great difficulty that Dayanara pulled the door closed behind herself. There was a storm outside the likes of which Jedha had never seen, nor any of the temperate planets she'd stayed on long enough to get a feel for the climate thereafter. But here there was enough rain to drown in and winds that might sweep up any unwary traveller right into the thundering skies. Her little shuttle had damn near been smashed to bits on a rockface, and her arms still hurt from the strain of keeping it on course. She bolted the door shut from the inside and leaned against it, catching her breath for a moment. She'd only just made it back from her latest assignment, and of course she'd returned to the secret Rebel outpost in the midst of a storm so bad it had grounded an entire squadron. But she'd had to wait for a storm to cover her arrival; it wouldn't do to lead the Imperials right into a contingent of Rebel forces during the last breaths of the war. Or what they all hoped would be its last breaths at least. 

Shivering, Dayanara pushed herself away from the wall and descended further into the base, leaving a wide trail of water in her wake. She was drenched to the bone, too, and had the rain been less frigid she might have been able to appreciate such an abundance of water, but as it was, she was fighting the growing numbness in her fingers and toes and grinding her teeth down hard to keep them from chattering. She made a short stop in one of the fresher halls to divest of her sopping outer clothes, the jacket and coat, and the cape that was _supposed_ to be waterproof. Her boots squelched with every step, so she rid herself of them too and then hopped and stretched in place for a bit, trying to get some feeling back into her frozen toes. After retrieving a towel and wringing out her hair, she gathered up her pack and made her way into the mess hall, where a few of the grounded pilots were milling about aimlessly. 

"Dameron." She called upon entering, "Please tell me communications are up." 

"Technically yes, but reception's spotty." He grumbled, his eyes glued to the blinking lights of the communications device. It was uncharacteristic for Kes Dameron to be so gloomy, but Dayanara supposed if her beloved were being chased down by TIE fighters on the other side of the galaxy she wouldn't be cheerful either. Luckily, to the best of her knowledge everyone she cared about was as safe as they could be. She made her way over, pulled out a chair and plunked down next to Dameron. Up close the man was positively pouting, demonstrating very clearly where his little boy had gotten his own ferocious pout from. 

"Any news?" She asked softly. 

"Got our orders. We're out of here first thing in the morning or as soon as the weather allows, which ever happens first." Judging by the howling winds outside, it might turn out to be the latter. Dayanara was already unpacking her bag, rummaging through it for the files she stole on the assignment she'd just returned from.

"I need a secure long-range transmission to wherever the general is by now. Can we manage that?" She asked, the damp towel slipping from her shoulders and landing on the concrete floor with a light _splosh_. Kes Dameron turned in his seat, revealing a weather monitor behind him at which he peered for a long moment, before testing the comms, which only spluttered a few pitiful beeps. 

"It's unlikely to make it outside the atmosphere as long as the storm is this bad. Is it urgent?" 

Dayanara shook her head. She was well within the allotted time frame, and the integrity of the data was more important at this stage. Besides, she needed to review it first in order to plan the next steps of her assignment. But just for contingency, she'd like the intel to make its way securely back to Draven in case she was held up on the way. Outside, thunder cracked so ferociously the base shook for a moment, the lights flickering ominously. Dameron sighed. 

"We can prepare a transmission, but download alone will take a while. Enough time for you to take a hot shower and stop dripping on my floors."

Dayanara decided to ignore the hint in favour of staring darkly at the console in front of them. The next roar came from her stomach, making Kes break out into a grin for what seemed to be the first time in days. He took the datastick from her hand and plugged it in, starting the download process. Groaning, Dayanara hoisted her aching limbs out of the seat and trudged towards the freshers, grabbing a plate of food from the small kitchen on the way back afterwards. She nibbled on it glumly as the download finally completed, then shoo'd Dameron away as she set about decrypting and reviewing the files. 

She stayed up most of the night, working even after the last of the pilots had gone to sleep, save the poor sod assigned the nightwatch. He didn't disturb her much, only attempting to make some small talk a handful of times before giving up. 

As dawn approached, the winds outside seemed to die down some. Dayanara finished typing her report and stretched her sore neck and shoulders, then attempted a test transmission. It went through without problem. She was just about to get up and pour herself a much-needed cup of caf when a response beeped through.

'Send intel and await orders'

She did, then went to get her caf while the transmission went through. She could just about imagine Draven on the other end, already reviewing the files she'd stolen as they downloaded. Sure enough, by the time she had downed her second cup and gone to throw some ice-cold water on her face, both in the hopes that it would wake her up some, new orders were waiting for her, detailing targets and meeting points. 

"Well, anything fun at least?" asked a droopy-eyed Kes as he wandered the room, looking scarcely more rested than he had when he'd gone to bed.

"You're still going back to base." She informed him, and he pouted. 

"You spies get to do all the fun stuff."

"Try taking out your frustrations on the next TIE fighter you see, Dameron."

"Yes, ma'am," he saluted. "And what will you be doing? If a lowly x-wing pilot if allowed to know such secret things-"

Dayanara grinned.

"I'm going to steal an Imperial officer before he reaches his new post."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay, Kes Dameron!


	7. Inter Arma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> research? never heard of her. (aka this is why Poe is like a couple of years older in this timeline, but I get too much joy out of imagining a chubby lil baby Poe to change it, so there)

Major Valarian Rispeha groaned inwardly. In his opinion, he had better things to do than endure one week of home leave. Home was a sentimentality for the weak. His place, as far as he was concerned, was wherever the Empire deigned to post him, not the dingy little backstreet house in the south-western district of Kolene, certainly not his doleful mother, who'd only nag him about how un-Jedhan he was, how he refused to receive the tribal markings, how he refused to speak her language or follow her customs, or even show the slightest bit of interest in them. Circumstance had forced her away from her home world and she seemed to direct every bit of energy into recreating it here, and now that Jedha had been the unfortunate target of the Death Star, she had only redoubled her efforts, and her nagging, and her resentment. Valarian was sure she secretly blamed him directly, which would have been fine by him if it meant that she refused him into her house. If only she exchanged more than recipes and old wives tales with her various correspondences across the galaxy, at least he could have delivered her to the appropriate places to be charged with sedition, or anything, but the old bat was clever enough to not make herself a target, never corresponded with anyone in systems outside of firm Imperial control - worst of all, she would die before casting out any child of hers. Even if she know exactly just how involved he'd been in the Death Star's construction. 

Valarian stretched his stiff shoulder, readjusted his pack, and trudged onwards through the narrow streets. He resolved not to spend a moment longer inside the house than he absolutely had to. _Five days_ , he told himself, _it's only five days_. He rounded the last corner. The house he'd grown up in had housed generations of Corellian shipwrights, like his father, before them. Though its outside was unassuming he knew it extended back and into three levels, enough to contain a troupe of children, and one of his many siblings would always be staying over with their own offspring. That in addition to his younger brother who had inherited their father's shipbuilding job. He sighed as he paused in front of the greenish door. An order was an order. Valarian knocked. An unfamiliar young woman barely opened the door and peered at him through the crack, before addressing him in Jedhan. He had half a mind to pretend he didn't understand it, but by then he could already hear his mother's dragging footsteps approaching and refrained from saying anything. Her wrinkled face appeared behind the, admittedly quite pretty, young woman and glowered, softening for only a moment when she saw the burn marks on his face and neck. Seized by another jolt of the same insubordination that had gotten him in trouble numerous times before, he lifted the eyepatchin greeting, revealing the mangled, empty socket underneath, before he shouldered inside, jostling both women out of his way. He dropped his pack in a hallway corner, then marched ahead to the sitting room, ignoring his brother's disapproving look, his sister's withering look, some niece or nephew's frightened look, and plopped down on the seating cushions before helping himself to a cup of tea from the pot on the low table in the middle of the seating area. The young woman who had opened the door followed right after him and sat down next to his brother, gently grasping his arm. Another good Jedhani spouse for mother's deserving Jedhani children, Valarian concluded. She'd tried countless times to get him to marry the daughter of some friend or friend's friend, or friend's friend's acquaintance. He wondered briefly if she had another feckless girl hidden in some room to ambush him with. Five days might turn out to be too long after all. 

His mother entered with deliberate poise and delicately sank onto her cushion, an enthroned matriarch among her adoring court. Valarian scoffed into his tea. He looked out of place in his grey officer's uniform. It was a familiar feeling; he'd never belonged here even when he'd worn the same traditional Jedhaian clothes. His mother had fixed him in an unblinking stare. 

"What, mother?" he barked, spilling a few drops of tea. In lieu of an answer, she just glanced behind him, and nodded subtly.

The curtain rustled. Valarian turned, or attempted to, but before he could fully set himself in motion something blunt and heavy came down on the back of his skull and his vision went dark. 

* * *

Dayanara replaced the last item into the major's baggage, then checked that he was still out cold and the sedative she'd administered was still dripping steadily into his veins. So far this extraction was going according to plan, but she knew that this was only the beginning of the mission and there were thousands of things that could go wrong yet. She completed her scans of the major's scars, then folded his uniform up for transport along with the rest of his things and sent them ahead with a young twi'lek lieutenant, one of their newer recruits. By the time their agent arrived here to replace Rispeha, she'd be long gone. 

When she stood, the mother approached her and laid a firm hand on her arm. 

"Your promise-"

"It stands. I gave you my word that no harm would come to your son. But he'll have to be detained by us for as long as this mission takes, at least."

The woman squeezed her arm absently while she stared down at her unconscious son, her expression inscrutable. Dayanara tried wiggling out of her tight grip. 

"I give you my word." She vowed once more, pulling her arm free with a decisive tug. "You've done what you could. You did the right thing." 

The other woman swallowed hard, then bent down and cupped her son's scarred cheek in her small hand. "I don't know what I did wrong-" 

As always when Dayanara didn't know what to say, she stayed quiet. It was almost sufficiently dark outside. Only another half hour or so and she could chance it. Her ship wasn't parked that far off, but having to lug an unconscious body around, let alone one a good bit taller than her, was still a challenge. 

* * *

Bodhi observed himself in the mirror inside the communal freshers, blissfully empty at this time. He'd just been fitted with a new, permanent prosthetic arm - one covered in synthflesh especially made to imitate the scars Major Rispeha had sustained while being trapped inside his usual command post on Eadu - and due to the aneasthetic knocking him out for most of the afternoon he was now again wide awake in the middle of the night. Bodhi let his fingertips trace over where the border from his skin to the synthflesh ought to be, but couldn't feel a real difference. It was surreal; he'd only just gotten used to the limb missing. 

But not to his tattoo gone. Sure, he still had the one on the left arm, but it felt incomplete, like part of his history had been burned away, too. He let the artificial fingertips trace along the swirling patterns blooming from the crook of his left elbow outward. The patterns denoted the tribe above all else, but further than that they were also unique markers of identity; no two native Jedhans had the same. Beni Patharidi. Son of Syma and Roshan, born under the Triplets, three weeks after the fiftieth eclipse, firstborn, brother to Amir, unmatched, uncommitted, unwed, no children; pilot (though the term in their native language translated more closely to star-wanderer) - all important dates faithfully recorded until he was twenty-four, when his mother had died. 

Bodhi turned on the fresher and waited until the water was scorching hot, then stood underneath until the smell of antiseptic was washed away. His transformation was almost complete, at least outwardly. He ran a hand through his hair, already clipped down to regulation length. Quickly, he dried off, went back to his quarters, and started getting dressed, but decided to leave the shirt and uniform jacket off until later. He'd had to put the whole uniform on before for a fitting, and the Imperial officer's collars were so close and stiff it gave him claustrophobia. 

It was mere hours before he was due to leave, so he passed the time recapitulating everything he knew and had learnt about Major Rispeha. There wouldn't be anyone who'd ever met the major before at his new post, but there was a way to go beforehand and it wouldn't do to be unprepared. It wasn't just his own life that depended on Bodhi being convincing. When enough time had passed, he stood and shrugged on the shirt, but didn't button it all the way up yet, neatly folded the jacket so it wouldn't crease, and shouldered the major's baggage, then trudged along the empty hallways towards the hangar, where he would receive his final briefing. 

Despite the fact that he was early, he was still the last to arrive. Draven already stood by the hangar doors, alongside a tall, lean man with a pilot's helmet held casually under one arm. 

"Mr Rook." Draven greeted neutrally. "This is Sgt. Dameron: He'll convey you to Corellia from where you'll report to Imperial logistics and transport."

Bodhi nodded. The major's belongings had included a detailed itinerary, including all the necessary documentation. Sgt. Dameron grinned amiably and extended a hand for him to shake. Bodhi reciprocated using the newly attached limb and tried not to flinch at how foreign any touch felt through it, or how sore his shoulder still was after the recent surgery. Draven handed him another datapad.

"These are your final instructions, including the frequency on which to contact us. Take the flight to memorize every detail because you can _not_ take it with you, understood?" 

Again, Bodhi nodded. It was too late to back out now at any rate; too much had been invested in this plan, and too many people depended upon it. Bodhi turned to Sgt. Dameron. 

"Which ship?"

It was a small shuttle, only just enough for interplanetary travel. Its hull was a little banged up, a little scratched here and there. An older model, but sturdy. All in all, about as inconspicuous as a vessel could be. Carefully he set down his things in the loading bay, then stood with the datapad clutched in his hand. At the last moment, dread was starting to creep in, and he looked to Draven for guidance, reassurance, or anything really. He needn't have bothered. Draven just clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder, subtly nudging him up the shuttle's ramp. 

"Good luck, Rook. If you come back alive I'll make you a Corporal, if you come back alive and successful I'll make you a Sergeant." He promised stiffly. Bodhi managed a weak smile. Might as well get into the acting portion of this mission early, he thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls someone tell me whether draven actually has a mustache. I was convinced he does until like two days ago, but now I'm suddenly not sure anymore and too chicken to check.  
> if not, he has one in this story.  
> please interact with me.


	8. ...Enim Silent Leges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I laid a trap for myself and now I'm here having to construct a coherent narrative  
> *slowly inhales, holds, then exhales even more slowly*  
> but anything for Bodhi Rook!

Bodhi closed the hatch and made his way to the front of the shuttle, where Sgt. Dameron was already firing up the engines. For lack of any other seating, Bodhi sank down in the co-pilot's chair and buckled himself in. Sgt. Dameron seemed to sense his nervousness, because he motioned Bodhi towards the controls on his side. 

"You know how to fly, if I'm not mistaken." The vessel was small enough to be piloted by one person, but Bodhi appreciated getting something to do. He breathed a quiet thanks and started flicking levers and buttons, letting muscle memory take over. They fell into step easily, Bodhi completing the system checks while Dameron programmed their course. It was mere moments until they left the hangar, then the atmosphere of the small, rocky moon. 

"Alright, we have about two days and a half until Corellia, so if you wanted to get changed..." 

Bodhi, still only in pants and shirt, shook his head. "He doesn't really have anything else, so now neither do I. It's fine." 

"This Major Rispeha seems like a real stickler; wouldn't want to blow your cover with a creased jacket or something." 

Bodhi grinned, twisting a bit of his sleeve, then releasing the fabric. "Special blend. They get it straight from a supplier on... Carrida? Or Kattada." He was a pilot, navigation was rather an integral part of that - he should know this. His very first cargo flight had been to pick up a delivery of undershirts and socks from there. "One of them. Anyway. It doesn't really crease." 

Dameron looked thoughtful for a moment. "That explains so much. I'm not sure what exactly, though." 

* * *

Dayanara had lugged her cargo to her ship unseen and stowed him away safely. She was grateful for the cart the younger Rispeha son had borrowed from a neighbour, because the way was quite far and the major was more than a head taller than her and accordingly heavy. It was difficult enough to manoeuvre his body from the house onto the cart, even under the cover of darkness. The man was heavy like a sinking ship. Nothing like the comforting weight and warmth of her Bodhi, who'd only gotten through those first nights after his discharge from the medbay when he could sling his arm around her waist and rest his head half on her lap, always anxious not to impose even with his body curled around hers like a blanket as he finally  drifted off to a less perturbed sleep. 

Apropos of sleep - Rispeha was starting to stir. Quickly, she retrieved another IV-bag of sedative and exchanged it for the now empty little pack she'd been using to keep him under so far. When she was satisfied that she would not be disturbed for a good while, she locked him in and went to start the ship.  

* * *

Time stretched out until it seemed to disappear, out here among the stars. They'd been taking turns flying the shuttle in order not to waste any precious time. It was about halfway through the distance that Bodhi returned from his resting phase, actually feeling surprisingly rested. He hadn't even slept all that long, just very deeply. He brought two meal bars with him from the back of the shuttle, tossing one at Kes. 

"Thanks." 

"You want me to take over?"

"It's on auto." The crinkling of the wrappers as they tore them open was damn near synchronized. "Let's just sit and eat a while; it gets too damn lonely out here otherwise."

Bodhi hummed non-committally. The being alone was one of the things he most cherished about flying, but then again the Empire wasn't exactly a prime source of personable travel companions. Maybe with the right people, he'd prefer company, too. His gaze meandered around the small cockpit, landing on a small holodisc that projected the image of a smiling young woman with dark curls, holding a baby on her lap who seemed to have inherited her wild hair. Both were smiling brightly.

"Your family?" Bodhi asked. 

"Yeah, my wife, Shara, and our little boy. He's almost one year old, which is crazy because it seems like only yesterday that he was born." Kes gazed at the image with so much longing. "How about you? You got a family?"

Bodhi thought of his father - dead, his brother - dead, his mother - dead, Galen - dead, the people he had known too briefly to truly consider them friends - all dead save for Baze Malbus, who'd disappeared so immediately and so long ago that to Bodhi he might as well be. He tought of Dayanara -

"No." His own forcefulness took him by surprise. He swiped his palm over his mouth, as if that might dull the harshness in his voice. "No one, really." He amended, softer. His eyes flicked to the holo again. One of his earliest and clearest memories was getting to hold his little brother. He'd had dimples in his chubby baby cheeks just like Kes Dameron's son. 

* * *

The sedative had to run out eventually. She knew that, of course, but the reality of having to deal with it was still not something she looked forward to. Maybe she shouldn't have taken this detour. It served no purpose as far as the parameters of her mission were concerned - this was purely personal. 

"Shut your damn mouth!" she yelled in Jedhani, knowing fulll well that he understood and that it annoyed him. With a sigh, she throttled the engine and adjusted the steering, then enabled full automatic piloting before hoisting herself up from her seat and stomping over to the makeshift holding cell in the back. On the way, she grabbed a ration and some water, which she threw in the major's face when she reached him. 

"I said shut up." 

He only complained more. She rolled her eyes. "I see why they kept punting you around to ever more remote postings. You've been up not three minutes and I'm annoyed already."

"Sometimes superior officers are idiots and I value honesty over ego." He sneered. Dayanara grimaced and eyed the lever that would release the airlock. Tempting. 

"Good for you." 

"Believe it or not, most of those stuck-up prigs are only in it for their personal advancement. They care nothing for the cause." He sounded so righteously indignant that Dayanara had to hold back a laugh at the absurdity of it. He eyed the food and drink suspiciously, decided he wasn't quite desperate enough for that yet, and shoved both away like a picky child at dinner. It might also have had something to do with the fact that his hands were still bound and if he attempted to open either item it would be less than dignified. 

"Suit yourself." 

"You won't get anything out of me. I am loyal." 

"You overestimate your own worth, major." Dayanara made a demonstration of checking her nails in a way that indicated boredom of the most severe kind. Really, she was checking that the moon they were flying past was fully visible through the ship's window, and subtly directing his attention towards the sight. She couldn't really bring herself to look at it fully, quick glances out of the corner of her eye were all she could manage without breaking down, enough to grasp the enormous crater on the side of the now lopsided moon. That's where the city had been, along with the majority of the population. The land around it had been upturned for miles and miles. 

"Is that Jedha?" His face was void of expression, not even pretend interest. 

"No, I abducted you and flew you all the way out here to show you a completely destroyed desert moon which I chose at random." 

"No need to be snide." 

"There was no need to blow up entire planets either, and yet." 

He fell silent, his mouth opening and closing a few times, a man about to launch into some high-handed lecture but struck dumb and lost for words. It didn't last long, unfortunately. He got out three or four angry sentences, about how the Empire signified order and had a holy duty to enforce it across the galaxy for the good of everyone, and if certain elements could not accept that then they had only themselves to blame for the just retribution that followed; by then Dayanara had made it across the width of the ship on her gammy leg and punched the sanctimonious bastard clean in the throat. The force of the blow shut him up and made his skull rattle against the metal wall, both of which were satisfying. 

"We're done here. Bother me again and I'll gag you, understood?" 

He wheezed, crumpled to the floor and holding his throat, but still shooting her looks of pure contempt. Dayanara marched back to the cockpit and closed the door behind her. Her own throat was burning, and her shot-up lung didn't exactly help her catch her breath. What had she been thinking? That she could force remorse upon him? That anything she could bring up now would be news? That she could change his mind, dislodge the deep-seated conviction of his own righteousness with something as simple as facts? 

"This is what Cassian always told you, and still you won't listen." She said out loud, then wiped her eyes and fired up the engines. Cassian was dead, but Bodhi was still there. 

* * *

When they arrived at the airfield, a young man was already waiting there to pick them up. No one paid much attention to the small group as they wound through narrow streets. Bodhi had finally buttoned and tucked in the shirt, and put on the uniform jacket. The stiff collar dug into his neck, irritating where the skin was, still, tender from being burnt. If nothing else, it helped him achieve the signature scowl of an Imperial officer. They barely stopped by the house where the major's mother still lived with most of her younger children before Dameron and the younger Rispeha dispersed discreetly and fell loosely into step with him respectively. Thankfully the young man didn't attempt to make conversation as they walked the distance to the space port, boarding one of many ferry shuttles when they closed on Corellia City proper. 

Before the wordless awkwardness of company one was supposed to know and ignore could manifest itself, the port entrance came into view. Bodhi saw Kes Dameron dawdling inconspicuously near a market stall close by, nodded briskly at his pretend brother, and disembarked with back stiff and frown deep. If Dameron's last assignment was to make sure he actually followed through with his mission, this was it. He shouldered his bag and walked into the building without hesitation. Thankfully, the layout was straighforward enough so that he could easily seem like he knew exactly where he was going despite only having been there once or twice before, and always confined to the cargo bays. Valarian Rispeha had started his service to the Empire here as a customs clerk, so he'd have found his way blindfolded. 

He approached the checkpoint and all but threw his documents at the clerk sitting inside their little glass cabin, who scrambled to go through the proper procedure in a manner that was both as thorough and as timely as required. 

"It's about half an hour until lift-off, sir." The clerk, who couldn't have been older than eighteen, stammered upon handing the documents back. Bodhi let the silence stretch and watched the boy squirm, as he himself and countless others had squirmed under the real Major Rispeha's unyielding gaze before. It had been unsettling enough before the eyepatch. 

"Should...should I have the missing passengers called to make sury there is no delay, sir?" The boy stammered. He was quick on the uptake, at least. Bodhi nodded and walked through the gate and onto the waiting ship, claiming a seat and buckling himself in after stowing his baggage in the allocated storage unit. Thankfully no one dared bother him beyond a cursory greeting as the remaining officers and stormtroopers filed in, followed by the pilots. Internally, he went along with the pre-flight checks, both because it was aritual that calmed him and to tamp down on the anxiety that reared its head whenever he was not in the pilot's seat himself. But they had received the same rigorous training as Bodhi and made no mistakes. As he felt the engine come alive and the ship lift, he was overcome with a strange sense of elation, purpose even. _Rogue One, pulling away._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why yes I really just do google 'star wars *thing* list' and then pick by how much I like a sound


End file.
